Your Scent
by novaluster
Summary: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski - Stiles loves to wear Derek's leather jacket. Derek loves it when Stiles wears his leather jacket. It's a win-win when both parties benefit from Stiles' penchant for raiding Derek's closet. Or the one where Derek loves to get high off Stiles' scent. It's a thing.


**A quick AN:** I wrote this a year ago for a histerek fanart and posted it on Tumblr. I'm just now getting around to uploading it here and AO3 (same username). I borrowed histerek's AU in which Derek moves to London after leaving Beacon Hills. This premise isn't the main focus of the story, but it explains a few things while reading it.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Are you ever gonna take that thing off?"

"Nope, papa."

"Funny."

"I'm here all week."

John rolls his eyes as he watches Stiles pack item after personal item into the many boxes and suitcases littering his son's bedroom floor. A small part of him panicked at the thought of his son leaving for college.

In another country, no less.

He's just glad he made peace with that piece of life-altering information his dear son decided to drop on him months ago.

"When's Derek getting here?"

"Um, noon-ish? He was gonna stop by Erica's and Boyd's on his way over."

"Don't think you have to pack everything in one go. You still have a few days before you guys head back to London."

"I know, dad. Just getting a head start. Don't wanna be rushing at the last minute."

"Look at you, so diligent." Sarcasm heavy in his statement.

Stiles gasps. "You say that like it's so hard to believe. If you haven't noticed, I'm an adult now, off to embark onto the next chapter of my life. I've got this." He winks at his dad, cocky smile forming on his lips.

John rolls his eyes, again.

Stiles laughs.

"What you are," John begins, "Is an eighteen-year-old boy, going off to live with his _adult_ boyfriend across the Atlantic without adult supervision."

"You can't say that!" Stiles exclaims indignantly, "You _just_ said Derek's an adult. You admitted it. Take it back!"

"I meant an adult who isn't fucking my son," John deadpans.

"OH, MY GOD, JESUSCHRIST! DAD! EWW!"

John laughs. This time, drowning out the sound of the doorbell ringing. Almost.

Stiles uses that moment to beat a hasty retreat, getting away from his cackling father, as fast as he possibly can. His face a mixture of disgust and horror, because his dad talking about his sex life is a big nope he wants to stay away from, as much as possible.

It's rare when John manages to stun his son. He won't pass it up when he gets the perfect opportunity for it.

As his laugh dies down, John takes in Stiles' bedroom; mess on the floor and smells that have been unique to Stiles since he was a baby.

He's running through years of memories when he hears Derek's deep baritone coming from downstairs.

"Guess he's early," John wonders to himself, and walks towards his bedroom. Not wanting to walk in on a scene that might require a lobotomy. It's one thing to joke about it, but completely different seeing it in person.

John shivers.

* * *

Stiles rushes down the stairs, his dad's heavy laugh fading as he reaches the bottom.

"God, that man is a menace," Stiles mutters under his breath, "Now I know where I get it from."

An amused huff escapes his lips.

The doorbell rings, again.

When he opens the door, Derek is standing there, blocking the entryway. Reminding Stiles how glorious Derek's frame is.

A blissed-out look forms on Derek's scruffy face as he rushes Stiles, forcing Stiles to cling to his broad shoulders and wrap his legs around Derek's waist when the other man lifts him into his arms.

"Woah, there, big guy," Stiles says, tightening his hold on Derek when Derek starts to rub his five o'clock shadow all over Stiles' cheek. "Happy to see me, I see." Amusement tinges his voice.

Derek hums, and starts to lick Stiles' neck. Deep kisses land on smooth, milky skin. Each mole getting special attention from Derek's sinful mouth.

A fang slightly graces Stiles' throat as a wet tongue follows to smooth over any irritation.

A shiver runs down Stiles' back, straight to his cock.

"Seems someone else is definitely happy to see _you_ , Mr. Sourwolf." Stiles leers when he manages to lift Derek's face out of his neck. He knows he'll be sporting hickies the size of quarters all over his skin when this is over, but doesn't mind one bit.

Derek looks higher than a kite.

Stiles knew wearing Derek's leather jacket was a good idea. Guaranteed to hit every one of Derek's buttons: possessiveness, protectiveness, cuddle monster, and his personal favorite, scent kink.

Derek never passes up an opportunity to mark Stiles with his scent. And Stiles never passes up an opportunity to have Derek all over him. It's a win-win for all involved, really.

Derek goes back to making love to Stiles' neck.

After minutes of moaning and slurping echoing throughout the first floor, Stiles remembers he's not alone in the house.

"Derek."

A good suck, a slurp and a moan follows the question, distracting Stiles another minute.

He tries again.

"Baby," Stiles breathes out. His head hitting the wall on a moan as Derek presses him against the flat surface.

Another minute goes by.

Stiles can barely think straight, but tries to grab Derek's attention.

"Derry Poo."

"Wha-?" Derek reluctantly removes himself from Stiles' delectable throat to half-heartedly glare at his mate.

Stiles smirks.

"Finally got your attention, huh?"

"Your nicknames aren't cute," Derek responds. A pout wanting to form on his swollen, spit-slick lips.

"They're adorable."

Stiles can see Derek's eyes homing in on his throat again, and knows if he allows Derek another go at it, they are never going to leave the hallway before his dad comes downstairs. No way is he going to give his dad more material to tease him with.

"My dad's upstairs. So, unless you're okay with your future father-in-law walking in on you molesting his precious, baby boy, I suggest we move this party into a more private room. Preferably with a lock."

Derek huffs out a small smile. "Precious, baby boy?"

"You doubt my preciousness?" Stiles lifts his chin in indignation.

"Never." Derek smile and leans in to finally kiss Stiles on the lips.

Soft lips press against each other. Tongues invade wet heat, tangling in a soft tango that leaves both men breathless.

Slowly, they each disengage. Slim arms and lithe thighs release their hold on firm shoulders and trim waist. Broad hands smooth out around a delicate waist until Stiles is finally standing on his own two feet, barely.

 _That was intense_ , Stiles thinks, leaning his forehead on Derek's shoulder, trying to get his equilibrium back.

"You okay?" Derek asks, worried he went too far.

Stiles lifts his head and smiles the biggest shit-eating grin at his handsome mate. It prompts Derek to narrow his eyes, because _that_ is the smile that says Stiles just got his way.

"Love my leather jacket, Der?"

" _MY_ leather jacket," Derek rebuttals, "And you played me!"

"Like a fiddle, Sourwolf."

"You're a menace!"

"I hear it's hereditary."

Derek laughs and lifts Stiles back into his arms. Intent and mischief clear in his deep blue eyes.

The day's just getting started. Stiles is looking forward to spending it in bed.


End file.
